The Pride and the Passion
by Kay Em2
Summary: Charles is home, but the Army hasn't finished with him yet. CM warning for those of you who don't like 'em


**The Pride and the Passion**

**By Kay Em**

_Disclaimer: The characters, alas, are not mine. They belong to Fox. But once I got the idea, I just had to write it down. By the way, spelling is in English English (not American English), 'cos that's where I am and that's how I write. Constructive feedback and comments welcome! Thanks._

**August 18th 1953**

"So, Charles, have you decided yet who you're going to t…t…take to the Dinner and Dance?"

Charles sighed, paused in buttering his toast to look across the dining table at his sister. "Why would I have given any more thought to it this morning than I had yesterday evening, when you last asked me?" he said, "I've had better things to do all night – like sleep!"

"But it's only three w…weeks away, Charles! Most of the girls are already spoken for, I know, but Emeline Harvey's suh…still available, and Amelia Edgecott. I'm having lunch with Amanda Fox-Price today – I could pass on a message…?"

"Honoria, I've only been home a few days," said Charles, "I need a little time to adjust – please? A few weeks ago I was hip deep in… in casualties. I cannot simply switch that off and start worrying about who to take to some dance!" He threw his knife onto his plate and bit into his toast, wondering whether he would ever be able to explain to his family just how and why Korea had changed him.

"All right, all right, no need to get shirty," said Honoria, "But just so you know – Emeline's really keen on you. She's already t…turned down an invitation from Freddy Fox-Price in the hopes that you'll ask her instead."

"Hope she isn't holding her breath then," muttered Charles.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"And Amelia's hoping you'll w…wear your uniform," said Honoria, changing tack with a speed that made Charles' head spin.

"You were talking about Emeline a second ago!" he said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. In precisely…" he looked at his watch "…fourteen days, fifteen hours and twenty-three minutes, I will be officially discharged, and no longer entitled to wear that wretched uniform. The day after that, I start my new job at Boston Mercy, and until then I am on leave and free to do pretty much what I like. And what I'd like right now is to be left to enjoy my breakfast in peace!"

"That goes for all of us," put in his father, from his seat at the head of the table, "I thought you two would have grown out of your bickering by now."

"Yes, Honoria, do let him be," said his mother, "If he can't decide who he's going with…"

"I haven't actually _said_ that I'm going," said Charles.

All three members of his family began to protest at this, but he was saved from further arguing by the timely arrival of the butler bearing the post.

"I guess this must be for you, Charles," said his father, handing across a buff envelope, "You didn't tell us you'd been promoted."

"Promoted?" Charles frowned as he read the name on the envelope: 'Lieut. Col. Charles E Winchester III, M.D.' "Army can't get anything right," he said, snapping it open. Pulling out a letter and its attached paperwork he began to read. "What…?" Incredulous, he read the letter again, checked the item attached to it. "They're insane!" he said at last, only then becoming aware of his family's expectant stares.

"Not extending your service, are they son?" said his father.

Charles shook his head, numbly, handed the letter to him. "It's a mistake," he said.

His father read for a moment, before letting out a whoop of delight. "Hey, listen to this!" He cleared his throat, began to read: "_We have today received the official report regarding your single-handed capture of five Chinese militia…"_

"Charles?"

"Mother, it wasn't like that…"

"If I might continue?" said his father. _"In light of your gallant action, above and beyond the call of duty, you are hereby awarded the Bronze Star Medal and promoted Lieutenant Colonel, effective immediately."_

"Wow! Wait till I tell the girls!" squealed Honoria.

"Charles, why didn't you tell us about this?" gushed his mother, hugging him.

"Because it was nothing like the way that citation makes it sound," he protested.

"Well, did you capture these people or didn't you?" said his father.

Charles was floundering. He wanted to tell them exactly how it had been, but they were all looking at him with a degree of admiration he couldn't recall ever seeing on their faces before. He shrugged. "They… surrendered to me," he said," he said, recalling those frightened Chinese faces with a clarity he knew would be with him forever. "But they weren't soldiers – they were musicians!"

His last words were lost in the babble of excited remarks and questions, which ended with his father handing back the citation with a "Well done, son."

"We're so proud of you!" said his mother, adding another hug for good measure.

"And we'll attend the ceremony of course," said his father.

"There's a ceremony?" said Honoria, "Can we all come?"

Charles threw down his napkin and stood up. "There isn't going to be any ceremony," he said, "And I need to make a phone call."

* * *

"…Look, Colonel – I know you told me there'd probably be a medal in it for me, but I thought you were joking!"

"I was." On the other end of the line, Potter gave a wry chuckle. "But Charles, if they want to give you a medal, you take it. Hell, back in WW two, I got my Purple Heart when my own Still blew up!"

"But sir, those prisoners… They died. I…"

"That wasn't your doing, son. And there are a lot of men alive today who _would_ be dead if it wasn't for you. So take the medal, and the promotion. You'll never convince the army not to give them to you anyway. Might as well accept 'em."

* * *

It was sweltering hot on the parade ground. Charles sweated in the uniform he had sworn he would never wear again, the new insignia on his shoulders gleaming as they caught the sun.

_What the hell am I doing here? _he thought, as he watched Colonel Houlihan take his place next to the General, on the podium in the middle of the square. He and the rest of the medal recipients had been drilled and rehearsed all morning on what to do and when to do it, but this was the real deal – though it all still seemed unreal to Charles.

There was applause from the stands behind him as the details of the first young soldier in the line were announced, and the boy – Charles could not believe he was older than 18 – marched over to receive his medal.

Charles was last in the line, and he felt like he'd been standing at attention for hours. But at last the PA announced: "Lieutenant Colonel Charles Emerson Winchester III, MD," and he marched across to the podium. Amid the applause, he was sure he heard a strangled cry of _"what!!!"_ and he knew without a doubt that it was Margaret.

Halting in front of the General, he saluted, smartly, returned to attention.

"I remember you. You were at the 4077th with my daughter, weren't you?" said Colonel Houlihan, handing the medal to his senior officer to pin onto Charles' jacket.

"Yes, sir. Finest head nurse I've ever known," said Charles, sincerely. He was rewarded with a beaming smile, remembered in the nick of time to salute again, spun around and marched back to his place. Now all he had to do was hope Margaret didn't do him too much damage at the official reception.

* * *

The mess hall was crowded with soldiers, their families, and a good helping of senior officers, but there was no sign of Margaret, and Charles heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe he'd misheard out on the parade ground. He found his family, let them admire the medal, and helped himself to a glass of champagne.

"It's warm," warned his father.

"Ugh," agreed Charles, after his first sip, "I should have known that the army would spare every expense."

"Winchester, isn't it?" said another familiar voice at his elbow.

"Colonel Houlihan. Good to see you again, sir. You've met my parents, Charles and Emily, I believe? And this is my sister Honoria."

"Good to see you again, Al," said Charles senior, "That was some party we had, wasn't it?"

"It sure was!" said the Colonel, "I can still see you now, dancing the Charleston with the O'Reilly's! Shame I never got to meet young Walter at the 4077th, but I saw what your son and his colleagues did while I was out there, Emily, and I can't tell how impressed I was with all of them. They saved a lot of lives." He turned to Charles. "I'm sorry the army doesn't give medals for the performance of medical miracles, Charles, but if they did, I know from Margaret that you wouldn't have enough room on your jacket to put them all."

"That's kind of you sir," said Charles, then realised what had been said. "Uh – Margaret speaks well of me, then?"

"Not any more, I don't!" hissed a furious voice from behind him. He turned, got jabbed in the ribs from a uniformed blonde Major who spat her next words at him through gritted teeth: "I don't know how you did it, mister, but…"

"Margaret!" Her father intervened, sharply, "That is no way to address a superior officer."

"_Superior!"_ she squeaked, "I'll give him 'superior'!"

"Margaret, is there somewhere we can discuss this quietly, in private?" Charles put in, hastily, aware that a few of the people nearby were giving them odd looks.

"Sure you want to do that, Colonel?" said her father, with a grim smile, "By the looks of her, it might mean your next medal's a posthumous one."

Charles threw him a look that said he realised that, and the Colonel gave a nod of assent.

"My office is right down the hall," he said, adding (with a glint in his eye that said he knew he was riling her), "Major, be good enough to show the Colonel the way, would you?"

"I'll show him the way to…"

"Major!"

"Yes sir." She moved off, muttering "Less paperwork if I kill him in private anyway."

She said not another word till they'd reached her father's office and she had slammed the door behind them. Then she let fly: "Of all the undeserving, low-down, underhand, scheming jerks! You've pulled some stunts in your time, Winchester, but this takes the cake. Who the hell did you pay off to get _this_ little fiasco arranged? Eisenhower?"

"I didn't…"

"Wait till Pierce and Hunnicutt hear about this! They'll dissect you without an anaesthetic, and I'll be the one holding you down while they do it!"

He went to perch on the Colonel's desk, folded his arms and waited till she ran out of invective.

"The army screwed up, Margaret," he said, mildly, when she eventually paused for breath, "I agree unreservedly that I did nothing to earn this. But I spoke to Colonel Potter about it, and he pointed out that it's hardly my fault that some idiot misunderstood a report. Do you truly believe I would stoop so low as to actually purchase a promotion and a medal?"

She gave him a hard stare, and he could see her anger already beginning to recede. "I guess not," she conceded, "But couldn't you at least have had the decency to tell them what really happened?"

"We've tried telling the Army it's made a mistake before, Margaret, haven't we, on a number of occasions," he said, "If I recall correctly, we only managed to get you out from under a charge of 'communist sympathiser' by blackmailing the imbecile who came to interrogate you."

"'Out from under' – boy, you got that right," she conceded, "But did you even try to explain to them, Charles?"

"I thought about it," he said, "Despite what Potter said. But…"

"But? _But…?"_

She looked dangerously close to exploding again, and he weighed up his options, decided he might as well try the truth, painful as it might be for him to admit. He took a deep breath. "My family was there when I opened the letter. They were all so pleased…" He threw his arms out in a gesture of helplessness. "My parents actually said they were proud of me. Margaret, I don't remember them ever – _ever_ – telling me that before." He shook his head. "I just couldn't… couldn't…"

"Tell them how it really was?"

He nodded, unable to look at her but knowing from the way she spoke that she wasn't angry any more. "I don't suppose it makes much sense to you."

"Oh, yes it does." She went across to the drinks cabinet, selected two glasses, and hefted the bourbon at him in silent query. He nodded. "It all makes perfect sense," she continued, pouring the drinks, "To someone who's spent her whole life worrying about whether she's worthy of being a Houlihan."

She handed him his drink, clinked the glasses and took a draught of the liquor.

"_You,_" she went on, "Have spent your whole life wondering if you deserve to be a Winchester. Haven't you?"

He stared at her. "You _do_ understand." He had an odd sense of relief, and a sudden insight: "Your father was just the same?"

"Oh, yeah. Want to know when he first told me he was proud of _me_? At the 4077th – as he was driving away."

"The trouble is," said Charles, loosening his tie and unfastening his jacket, "You deserved what he said. I told him out there on the parade ground that you're the best head nurse I've ever had, and it's true. But this…" He flicked at the medal. "First time my family tell me they're proud of me, and it's for something I didn't do."

Margaret put her drink down next to his and moved to stand in front of him so that she could take a hold of the medal. "Charles, I know the reason they cited for this was the wrong one, but that doesn't mean you didn't deserve this," she said, "Hell, you _all_ did – all those kids you saved, all those lives you touched?" She let go of the medal, but her hand was still on his chest, and Charles realised that his pulse had increased in line with her proximity.

"You helped some too, don't forget," he said, "If anyone deserves a medal around here, it's you."

"Hmm, yeah, I deserve one for putting up with crazy surgeons for three years of my life!" She laughed, but he noticed her hands were now on his shoulders, and he could smell her perfume. He was glad he'd loosened his tie – the room seemed much warmer now than it had when he'd come in. "Did you really tell my father I was the best head nurse you'd ever worked with?"

"Yes. And I meant it. I just hope the one I get at Boston Mercy is half as good."

"She will be. I guarantee it."

"You know her?"

"Intimately." Not a word she ought to be bandying around right now, thought Charles, not when she was standing so close.

"What's her name?"

She smiled. "Margaret Houlihan, dopey. It's me!"

"But I thought you said…"

"…I was going to get my career in order? Uh-huh. Doesn't working at Boston Mercy fit the bill?"

"Yes, of course, but – why didn't you tell me?" He knew he was grinning like a schoolboy, but he couldn't help it.

"It was going to be a surprise – but I think we've had enough of those for one week!" She smoothed his lapels. "I was hoping you'd show me around Boston."

"I'll show you around anywhere you want to go," he said, easing himself off the desk and contriving to put his arms around her waist at the same time. "Does this mean you're not mad at me any more?"

"I guess it means I love you," she said, softly, her eyes looking up into his.

He pulled her to him and kissed her, felt her arms slide around under his jacket as she kissed him back, and he felt at last as though he'd come home.

He didn't hear the door open, but when he heard Honoria saying, loudly: "Boy – and we were worried that they'd killed each other!" he opened his eyes to find his family and Colonel Houlihan smirking at them from the middle of the room. Reluctantly, he reclaimed his lips from Margaret, who blushed becomingly when she realised they'd had an audience.

"This is where I'm supposed to bust you both for conduct unbecoming an officer," said the Colonel, who was grinning from ear to ear, "But I guess I'll content myself with raising a toast to the both of you." He eyed Charles, and added, "Just as soon as you've dressed, young man."

"Uh, yes sir," said Charles, straightening his tie and refastening his jacket.

"Charles," said Honoria, "I have a feeling Emeline is going to be disappointed."

**_The End_**


End file.
